Shit.
I rode to the top plateau with my guards and my tigress in silence.
I was wearing a gold sarong shot with white, a white halter top, gold bands at biceps and forearms, gold hoop earrings, gold dust on cheekbones and around my temples and my gold crown of feathers.
Definitely, as always, the Golden Queen.
As we rounded the top of the plateau, however, I sucked in a very unqueenly breath.
This was because I could see from afar, well beyond the plateau on the rise leading up to it from behind Korwahn, there was a wide sea of riders, so many there would be no way to count, thousands, maybe tens of thousands. It was now full on dark but I still saw them as they carried torches and not a small amount of fires had been lit on the ground. I couldn’t make them out but I knew they
weren’t Korwahk for there were many flying pennants flowing in the light breeze that stirred the night air.
Korwahk warriors didn’t bother with pennants or, at least, I’d never seen any.
And on top of the vast plateau in the official clearing there was a throng of Korwahk warriors, maybe two hundred, none painted except those who were in my guard.
They were all standing at what could only be described as loose attention and they were all fully armed.
As we rode along the side of the plateau, I saw Lahn sitting on his throne on the platform carved in stone into the jutting lip of the plateau, a platform which had five deep steps up. The Eunuch was by his side, my white throne of horns on his other. And as we made it to the front, I sucked in another breath when I saw there was a grand chair located about a foot from the bottom step of the platform.
In it was a man wearing a steel breastplate of armor with a black and red dragon painted on it. There was a helmet of armor by his booted foot that had a shock of black and red feathers shooting out of the top. But he wore breeches and boots and, on his head, a crown pulled low, almost to his forehead, made of gold inset with diamonds and rubies.
He was graying and jowly with ruddy cheeks and mean, beady eyes. He had a very big gut which meant the breastplate had to be fashioned to contain it and it made him look ludicrous.
I did not laugh or even smile.
This was because his beady eyes were on me and they blazed.
Beside him, my heart lurched to see, stood Geoffrey, looking much thinner, much paler but much cleaner.
His eyes were on me too and they also blazed.
I was thinking whatever this was, something I already sensed was not good, was actually even worse.
Last, there were eight, tall, armed men wearing full armor lined behind the man with the crown’s chair.
Bohtan rode to my side and muttered, “You do not dismount.
Swing your leg sidesaddle. Zahnin will deliver you to our king.”
I gave a slight incline of my head and did as instructed when we stopped before Lahn who did not watch us dismount, his gaze never shifted from the man seated before him.
As Bohtan told me, Zahnin came forward and pulled me from Zephyr. He escorted me, with Ghost prowling close at my side, to my throne and I vaguely realized all of his lieutenants had formed behind us as we walked.
Lahn didn’t look at me as I moved in front of him nor did he do so as I sat and my guards moved to flank the backs of our thrones, Zahnin standing beside mine or next to Ghost who had settled on her belly, her head up, her eyes on the man in the chair, her demeanor watchful.
“You do not bow to your king?” the man in the chair said and my eyes shot to him. “My Circe grows a big head.”
I blinked and realized several things at once. One, The Xacme was translating for Lahn which I thought was weird since Lahn was mostly fluent in English. Two, this man in front of me thought he knew me and I didn’t think that was good. And three, I knew as a dangerous vibe slithered through the air that Lahn did not take kindly to this man calling me his Circe.
When no one said anything, I ventured in English, “Do I know you, sir?”
I felt that vibe coming from Lahn shift but only to get sharper, more alert, no less dangerous.
At my words, the man in front of me returned my blink.
“Do you know me?” he asked.
“Yes, do I know you?” I asked back.
“I would hope so, my dove, since you’ve been warming my bed since you were fourteen years of age,” he replied and I couldn’t contain a sharp gasp nor could I hide the disgust in it.
Then I whispered, “What?”
His eyes narrowed. “Good question, sweet Circe, but the what I would wish to know is what do you expect to gain by playing this game?”
“Game?” I asked quietly, my mind reeling, trying to catch a thought.
“You know you are mine. You have been mine since you were six. You became really mine,” he leaned forward suggestively,
“when you were fourteen.”
“That’s absurd,” I returned, not thinking and not including the words, “and sickening” because, seriously, fourteen? Not to mention, I’d never let this man touch me. He was old, for one, he was gross, for another.
His brows went up and he leaned back. “Absurd?”
“Absolutely. I’ve never seen you in my life,” I replied.
